


What the Hell is a "Halinski?"

by JoulesIsIronic



Series: "Halinski"s and Fanfiction Acronyms: a.k.a. the Teacher AU [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Crack, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:06:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoulesIsIronic/pseuds/JoulesIsIronic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles Stilinski is a well-loved English teacher, Derek Hale is the broody Mathematics instructor, and the words “shipping,” “OTP,” and “fandom” unexpectedly become a part of their vocabulary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What the Hell is a "Halinski?"

**Author's Note:**

> Crack AU in which Stiles and Derek are teachers at Beacon Hills High, and their students think they should be together. I doubt teachers in real life would react like this, but I couldn't help the probably completely unrealistic ending. Written a month or two ago, mostly to prove to myself that I'm still capable of writing fluff.

Stiles bursts into the Teacher’s Lounge, ignoring the glares his interruption receives, not stopping until he’s directly in front of Derek, who looks up at him from his peanut butter and jelly sandwich in confusion, one of his magnificent eyebrows raised expectantly.

It takes Stiles a few moments to catch his breath before he can speak. Then, finally, he searches Derek’s eyes, trying to find the right way to phrase it.

He does not find the right way to phrase it.

“My students _ship_ us,” he blurts, horrified.

Derek continues to stare back, his lips opening and closing, clearly trying to work out how to respond.

Finally, he says, “They _what_?”

“ _Ship us_ ,” Stiles repeats desperately.

“What does that even mean?” Derek demands, viciously tearing a bite from his sandwich. After all, the lunch period is only twenty minutes long and a man’s gotta eat. Stiles doesn’t judge.

Instead, he pulls up a chair, collapsing across from his fellow faculty member. “From what I understand – based on several painful interrogations with students and a scarringly thorough Google search – _shipping_ is the idea that two people should to be in a relation _ship_.”

“What?” Derek asks, though his mouthful of sandwich muffles his response, adding a bit of ambiguity to his reaction, making Stiles wonder if his “what” is in confusion to what shipping is or to why people ship them. 

So he answers both questions in the best way he can. “Apparently, my students want us to be together. We’re their _OTP_.”

Derek opens his mouth again, but Stiles can already guess what he’s about to ask.

“Their One True Pairing,” he explains. Derek does not look any less confused.

They stare at each other again while Derek finishes shoveling food into his mouth and looking slightly green, though whether that’s the sandwich or the _shipping_ thing, Stiles doesn’t know.

When he’s finally swallowed, Derek asks, “What would even give them that idea?”

Stiles shrugs, admiring the way Derek bites at his bottom lip like he has a personal vendetta against it.

“They think we have sexual tension. And apparently they spy on us. One of them saw you holding the door for me that one time.”

“You couldn’t even see past your stack of books,” Derek argues. “You were a hazard to this school and everyone in it.”

“And when you volunteered to help chaperone on my Literature class’s field trip to the University’s research library.”

“You needed all the help you could get. I have no doubt one of your students would have wandered off, and then what?” Derek argues, glaring at some unspecified location behind Stiles’ head, because apparently eye contact has stopped being a thing.

“They’re high school juniors and most of them have cell phones, but not the point. They noted that time you fell asleep on my shoulder during the five hour ride home from the Washington trip.”

“Your nonstop yammering put me to sleep.”

Stiles continues, nonplused. “And that on said trip you bought me dinner.”

“You forgot your wallet.”

“And you wouldn’t let me pay you back.” Stiles has lost track of what exactly he’s arguing for or against, but he plods on regardless. “We shared a room during the overnight trip.”

“So? Plenty of faculty shared rooms.”

“I remember waking up as a little spoon.”

“You didn’t seem to be complaining,” Derek grumbles. “Besides, it was only that one time.”

“It was a four night trip. I wouldn’t have guessed you were such a cuddler.”

At that, Derek growls, and Stiles thinks it might be in part due to the various heads swerving in their direction. “What exactly are you trying to prove, Stiles?”

He shrugs again, letting his hands lay palms-down on the cold surface of the table and trying not to fidget too much. “I don’t know. I’m just saying, maybe all their gossip isn’t completely unfounded.”

The dismissal bell is about to ring, but neither of them appear ready to move.

“How did you even find out about any of this ‘shipping’ nonsense?” Derek finally asks, and Stiles can’t help staring at how red the tips of his ears are.

He can feel his own cheeks heat up at the question. “You know how I run the Creative Writing club after school? Well, one of my students sort-of kind-of maybe wrote what she called a fanfiction. About us. Apparently, there’s a fandom centered around our supposed relationship, started on some website by one of the more assertive female members of our student body.” At Derek’s questioning glance, Stiles shakes his head. “Trust me, Dude, you don’t want to know. Our ship name is ‘Halinski.’ As in Mr. Hale and Mr. Stilinski.” He shudders for effect.

Derek looks at him pensively for a few more moments; and then the bell rings and even though he can feel the shuffle of movement around them as the other teachers and various staff file out of the room, Stiles’ eyes are still focused on Derek’s.

Then Derek smiles, and it’s a wolfish thing, teeth bared and everything. It really should be illegal to be that sexy and serial-killery-looking.

“Want to give them something to really talk about?” he asks, holding out his hand.

And Stiles smirks back in reply, grasping it in his own, suppressing the thrill in the sensation of warm hands meeting each other. “You know it, Big Spoon.”

They wait until school lets out and most of the administrators have left to make-out against the hood of Derek’s Camaro. And if it just happened to coincide with when most after school programs let out, so be it.

**Author's Note:**

> As of 9/22/13, there is now a companion piece/prequel (of sorts): RPFs and OTPs.


End file.
